


The Governor's Protege

by unfortunette



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not sure what this is, M/M, OR IS IT, One Shot, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 13:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8581129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunette/pseuds/unfortunette
Summary: just a short drabble about Tarkin helping Hux when he gets beat up idrk





	

Governor Tarkin was  _ exceedingly _ tired. He had taken the temporary position out of restlessness. He could only spend so long in what felt like a very stagnant position in the newly formed Empire before he started to to get that familiar itch. And while he might have scratched it by returning to Eriadu for a fortnight, when the Academy’s offer came through the holonet, he had jumped at the chance. Forgetting, of course, how little patience he had for dealing with  _ children _ .

He glanced at his reflection as he readied himself for bed, taking note of the way his brow was beginning to set. There was nothing he could do about it, of course, but he was far from unaware of the lines that were creeping into his cheeks as the years went on. He thumbed at a scrape of stubble that looked more silver than otherwise, shaking his head. He’d deal with it in the morning. Throwing his dressing gown over his shoulders, he turned back into the bedroom, pausing at the faint sound of a knock on his door. 

It wasn’t a loud knock, nor was it rhythmic. He could almost have dismissed it as an extraneous noise-- were he in a place where such noises were commonplace. But here.. He was as familiar with the noises of this place as he might have been on board the Carrion Spike. And quiet arrhythmic knocks were not part of that environment. Rubbing his brow, he set the door to manual controls and cracked it open, glaring out into the hallway to see what teenage idiocy he would be forced to deal with  _ now _ .

If he was hoping for a prank, he was to be disappointed. The only thing that met his eyes was the crumpled form of one of the senior cadets, a young man with the surname Hux, if he recalled correctly. The lines in his brow deepened into a frown, and he threw the door open the rest of the way to get a good look at the boy. 

Boy wasn’t the right word, of course. The cadet was in his twenties, nearing the end of his education. And just now he was shock white, blood crusting around his nose and over his lips. Tarkin didn’t bend, he simply looked down his nose at the student. “Are you  _ quite  _ alright?” he asked, knowing the answer before he even finished speaking. Hux didn’t answer. From the way he was shaking, it appeared he was in quite a bit of pain. Tarkin sighed. 

As irritating as this whole scenario might be, it was not unfamiliar to him. Hux had obviously gotten into more than he could handle. Scrawny as he was, it wasn’t surprising. And it wasn’t as if Tarkin himself had made it through the Academy without getting in his share of altercations. More than his share, he corrected himself with the slightest trace of a smile. Reaching back inside the room, he called for a medical unit. “Can you get up?” he asked the figure on the ground, careful not to sound overly sympathetic. He might be familiar with Hux’s side of things, but that didn’t mean he had any intention of  _ coddling _ him. He wouldn’t have wanted it, were their positions reversed and-- besides, to what end? 

He was answered only by a vague noise, and judged it to mean that the young man was suffering some kind of head injury. He pulled his robe shut and tied it, taking a knee to check that this wasn’t somewhat more dramatic than it initially appeared. No obvious sign of internal bleeding or serious breaks. Well, his wrist was swollen, and his face, but he didn’t seem to be in immediate danger. He snapped in front of the younger man’s slitted eyes, looking at him with the first traces of concern. “Cadet, stay with me,” he commanded coolly. Yes, he almost certainly had a concussion. Whoever had hit him had hit  _ hard. _

It was nothing personal, but Tarkin elected to escort Hux, and the droid that had come for him, to the medical ward. He had no stake in the situation, really, but the familiarity of the whole thing drew him to it, and he felt the need to see it through to its conclusion. There would no doubt be paperwork to fill out, and he wanted to at least  _ try _ to get the full story before starting in on it. A tired sigh, and he sank into a chair in the waiting room. He was acutely aware that he was still in his dressing gown, much to his chagrin. A few words to a droid to send for a set of clothes, and his thumb and forefinger went to the bridge of his nose, waiting for the medical staff to finish their assessment of the young man he had brought in. 

It wasn’t until after he had changed (and had a caf, knowing that he would likely be up for a while) that the doctor had finished with Hux, and Tarkin was allowed in to check on him. He had no intention of staying, but he was pleased to see that the boy was fully conscious, his wrist in a splint and tape over his nose. His face was badly bruised, but didn’t seem to be permanently damaged. No doubt most of the blood had come from his nose. Tarkin graced him with a grim smile. Hux looked ashamed. 

“Sir--” he spoke haltingly, nervous. They had spoken before, but only half a dozen times at most. There was nothing like familiarity between them. “Thank you for-- I’m sorry to have bothered you.” An eyebrow lifted, and Tarkin crossed his arms.

“I don’t suppose you intend to say  _ who _ did this?” Tarkin asked smoothly, already knowing the answer. It was always the same among the students. It was more honourable to take the demerit than to be a  _ rat _ . 

As predicted, Hux shook his head, his gaze turning distant. If the governor had wanted to believe it, he might have thought the younger man’s eyes were red. “I don’t-- do you remember the incident a few weeks ago,” he said finally. “With my-- with Lieutenant Cormac and his squadron.”

Tarkin frowned. “The unfortunate accident with the shuttle, you mean? I understand you were remotely piloting the craft.” Of course Tarkin remembered. He’d been on the disciplinary committee. It had been deemed a tragedy, but Hux was not declared unfit for duty. A mark on his record was the only punishment, his first. 

Hux nodded mutely. On second thought, his eyes  _ were _ red. “Lieutenant Cormac was-- my boyfriend,” he said quietly. Tarkin’s frown deepened. 

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, not sure what else the young man wanted. Hux shook his head, distressed. 

“There are some people who think it-- wasn’t,” he paused to lick his lips, and Tarkin looked away, intending to spare him the embarrassment of seeing his eyes spill over. “Ah, that it wasn’t an accident.”

The words hung in the room for a moment. Tarkin’s gaze was fixed on the shine of a metal cannister, his mind working around the sentence. Was this a confession? For what  _ purpose _ ? Finally, he turned back to the bed, looking down at the younger man with the closest approximation of pity carefully carved into his face. 

“And  _ was  _ it?”

Hux didn’t answer. Tarkin watched as the distress melted across the younger man’s cheeks, his expression stony. There was a part of him that was disgusted, that would have expected better from a student who had seemed so promising. There was another part of him that thought there might be more to his story. He nodded to himself. 

“You could still give me their names.” It had to be said. It didn’t matter if it was true, it mattered that these boys had sought to seek retribution on their own. The committee had ruled it an accident, and the ruling  _ must  _ be accepted, or there would be no order. He didn’t expect an answer. None came. He nodded to himself again. 

“When you’re recovered, come and see me in my office,” he spoke coldly, but he meant to. He hadn’t decided yet how he felt about all of this, he still had a great deal of thinking to do. His hand rested on Hux’s shoulder for a moment, and he looked down at him hawkishly. “Next time, use your firearm,” he said, glancing over his injuries once more before turning to leave. He had no need for a protege. No need. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is part of a long thing I am working on about Hux at the academy but idk if it will ever be finished so here's this at least ugh


End file.
